xp_logs | Log: Gabriel and Illyana, Sunday morning (Reply)

Illyana, after an alarming experience in December and having reminded herself of the issue again this weekend, approaches Gabriel for help on assumptions she made all by herself. Not usually her best plan, but at least she's consistent.

The knock was alarming. Especially at this hour.

Gabriel, standing in front of his coffee pot, looked blankly at the door with bleary eyes. He hadn't slept much, for whatever reason. A combination of booze-induced slumber and weird dreams had kept him up at weird intervals; his disheveled hair was a record of the tossing and turning he'd been doing all night.

And now, he was barely awake, and there was this knock. Another knock. He sighed, placing an empty mug on the counter. "One second."

It took almost exactly that long for him to speed over, unlock, and fling open the door.

Most fourteen-year-old girls, confronted with a pantsless, exasperated older man, might have been flustered. Illyana was not. "Hi," she said. "Are you Gabriel?"

"Uh." He blinked, looking down at the scrawny child in front of him. This, he truly had not been expecting. "Yeah." He scratched the back of his neck. "I'm... um, hi." He moved back from the door, giving her the option to enter, blinking at her with a confused expression the whole time. "Do you want to come in? Or...?"

Illyana shrugged and stepped through the door, pulling the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands. "I heard you sold stuff," she said, looking around - but incuriously, more like she was getting the lay of the land than that she cared about Gabriel's decor.

The door slammed shut as she finished speaking, the extra force mostly a function of Gabriel being caught off-guard. "Um, I don't—" He turned to look at her, and his face caught sight of a mirror. "Sorry, can you... like, hold on a minute." Before waiting for a response, he turned into a blur, bolting into his bedroom to grab a pair of shorts, then appearing again behind the couch.

He looked up at her, taking another survey of her appearance despite barely being more awake than he'd been minutes earlier. "You're Illyana," he said, because he was apparently having realizations aloud right now. "You want some coffee or something? Or some apple juice?"

Illyana shook her head and said, "No, I need some GHB." She paused, then added, "It's not for me."

Gabriel stared at her for what felt like minutes, a mix of confusion and apprehension on his face. "Illyana." He hesitated, searching her features for some mark of earnestness. "Is this a stress dream?"

The blonde girl looked at him dubiously, as though doubting his sanity. "No," she said, slowly, so he could follow her, "This is your kitchen."

"I don't..." He shook his head, still staring at her in incredulity. "Illyana, I'm not — I mean, even if I did things like that, which I don't, I'm not selling GHB to a 14-year-old. Who, I'm willing to bet, isn't entirely sure what GHB is."

"I told you," she said irritably. "It's not for me. Also, I know what it is. It's - " she dug in her pocket and came up with a phone - "gamma-hydro - um - something something acid."

"Yeah. That 'something something' is totally reassuring." Gabriel scratched his stomach. He was trying not to let her tone get to him. "Who the hell wants GHB, and who told you to get it from me?"

"Just because I can't pronounce stupid chemical names doesn't mean I don't know what it does," Illyana retorted. "I would just go to a pharmacy but apparently you need some kind of doctor thing and the last time I went to the medlab, Cecilia made sure I couldn't get measles or whatever which was terrible and I just don't need that kind of thing right now." She crossed her arms, huffing.

"Still waiting to hear my name, here." In a blink, he darted over to the coffeepot and filled it. "And anyway," he was in front of the sink now, looking over his shoulder as he filled the carafe, "you know GHB's a date-rape drug, right? Shouldn't be getting that shit for anyone."

"A what now?" Illyana looked unimpressed, although she was watching Gabriel warily, as though she'd just realized what his powers were. "Anyway, you're confused. It - um - " she glanced at her phone again - "induces REM followed by slow wave sleep. How dangerous can that be."

Gabriel laughed, then turned his attention back to the coffeepot. He poured water into the machine, then flicked a switch. "You never answered my question." He used his powers again, then sped back in front of her. "Here." He handed her a Pop Tart. "I've never had anyone ask me for drugs before. Seems rude not to feed you."

"You're a drug dealer," Illyana said, accepting the Pop Tart nonchalantly. Although she certainly held it closer to herself than she really needed to, as though Gabriel had just handed her something much more valuable than a breakfast pastry. "Do you just offer the drugs? How do you know if the person is a drug addict? I don't understand how this works. They made us watch a video at school but it was not very informative."

"Illyana." He raised an eyebrow, his expression atypically bemused. His eyes drift down toward the Pop Tart, as if he was considering snatching it back. "I'm not a drug dealer." A hint of a smile appeared on his face and in his eyes. "Do people think I'm a drug dealer?"

Illyana noticed Gabriel's attention toward the Pop Tart and angled herself away from any attempts to take it back. "I don't know what people think, because everyone here is insane or at least not very bright. I just know that you and Quentin didn't just say no because I saw you smoking that stuff that's illegal even though it's not the one that will actually give you cancer and therefore you are drug dealers, which the video made very clear, and you seemed friendlier than Quentin even if you are going own a path of destruction and misery." She looked vaguely dissatisfied with this explanation, as though realizing it could have been slightly more concise.

There was a beat. And another beat. A few beats, really. And then Gabriel grinned, because it was before noon, and everything about this was absurd. "Well," he said, whirring over to the coffee maker. "I see the videos haven't gotten any less heavy-handed." The coffee was only halfway done brewing, but in a split-second, he filled a mug with the contents of the pot and left the rest to brew. He looked back toward her. "You want milk or something?"

"Sure," she said, taking a possessive bite of the very corner of her Pop Tart. He didn't seem to want it back anymore but she had learned that previously-bitten food was less attractive to others for some reason; she still watched him warily. "So about the GHB . . . "

"Yeah..." He moved in warp-speed, popping in and out of Gabriel Time as he grabbed the milk, found the glass and poured. Then, he zoomed in front of her, extending the hand with her milk. "So, no. Because, propaganda aside," he paused to take a sip of his coffee and winced. "Not a drug dealer. Although I am much friendlier than Quentin, so, you know. One for two."

"I knew that place was useless," Illyana said as she took the milk, disgusted that she had been led astray into believing something from school. She huffed out an offended breath, and took a second, calming bite of her Pop Tart. "Getting this stupid drug is the worst."

Gabriel snorted. He knew enough about the mission of Xavier's to know he should keep his thoughts on the value of an education to himself. "I mean, yeah." He plopped down in the nearest chair. "It's illegal." He took another sip of his coffee. "Still haven't told me who wants GHB."

"Amadeus. Well. He doesn't know he wants it. But it will cure his . . . " She paused, trying to think of a way to say this delicately. She came up with: "Problem. You know, with stressful situations."

"Uh huh." Gabriel stared at her, studying her from his seat. "Well," he said, scratching his stomach after a long pause. "If I were," he ventured slowly and cautiously, "in the business of giving advice to teenagers on drugging their friends, I might have steered you in a different direction." He shrugged. "Like, you know. Another plan entirely." He brought the coffee toward his lips.

Illyana regarded him dubiously, like she was assessing his level of trustworthiness. "Like what?" she asked finally. "I don't have any of the equipment for gene therapy." Or, she conceded silently, a better-than-middling understanding of what that actually was.

"Wow," Gabriel said, not bothering to hide his amusement. "You've gotten a lot better at Google, that's for sure." He set the coffee down on the table, some splashing out of the mug and onto the couch. His eyes went to the spot for a few seconds, then he looked back in her direction. "They're no friends of mine, but we have, like, a menagerie of doctors or psychiatrists or whatever here. And Charles has like 14 PhDs. So."

"Huh," Illyana said, thinking this over like it was a new and surprising concept. Which it was. "I never thought of that."

"Oh, she's sassy too. Good." Gabriel stood, disappearing in a blur to the kitchen. He rifled through drawers, finally grabbing a dish towel that had probably seen better days. He spat on it, then appeared back on the couch, rubbing out the coffee stain. "A lot cheaper than GHB."

"I don't know about telling those people anything," she said, frowning at her Pop-Tart. "They're nosy. And talk about a lot of feelings, and expect you to stay awake in History class, like anyone has ever needed History in their lives."

"No, no," Gabriel shook his head. "No, see, the thing is, if you go to them and say Amadeus has a problem, it takes the heat off you. It's like, a classic diversion thing. Suddenly nobody's worried about you. I mean, they'll probably hug you, but they're worried about something else."

He looked up from the stain, a small smile at his face. "And yeah, History is garbage," he nodded in agreement. "But I also dropped out of high school, don't amount to anything and am apparently a drug dealer, so... don't listen to me. What do I know about life?" He shrugged and winked.

"You can drop out of high school?" Illyana leaned forward, almost forgetting her Pop-Tart in her renewed, vigorous interest. "How? Do you just stop going? Can I just stop going? Because, honestly, it has not helped me achieve any of my goals and everyone there is terrible."

"Well..." Gabriel looked at her, really taking her in now that he'd finished his coffee. Scrawnier than she'd ought to be, but in a way that suggested she was almost scrappy. And her eyes. There was something about the eyes. "I didn't make that choice. My parents kicked me out of the house, and the next few years were just kind of... whatever."

He shrugged and looked down, where he resumed rubbing at the stain, perhaps a little too intently. "You're gonna have to wait until you're, like, 16 or 17 or whatever the age is here. But in the meantime, hang out with the other disaffected kids. The ones who smoke in the forest by the field, or whatever. They're probably your people."

"Two years of gym," Illyana muttered, dismayed, deflating visibly at this instant end to her new hopes. She looked back up at Gabriel, almost wryly. "So you're not a drug dealer. At all."

"Nope," Gabriel laughed as he looked at her again. "Not now, anyway. I mean, I make no promises for the future."

"Fair enough," she allowed, shrugging. Never say never. She sighed. "You don't have any other secret cures for narcolepsy?"

"Portion control and exercise?" He bit his lip, trying to think what would be healthy for someone who couldn't help falling asleep. "Not really," he admitted. "Sorry."

Worth a shot. "Thanks for the Pop-Tart," she offered, clearly searching for what to say next. She settled on, "Sorry for thinking you were a drug dealer."

"Yeah," Gabriel smiled at her. "No problem." He searched her his face for a few seconds. "Hey. Hold on." He rose to his feet and disappeared, the sound of rapid swear words from the bedroom the only hint to where he'd gone. And then, in an instant, he was back, a set of DVDs in hand. "Here." He handed them to her. "Instruction on how to weather high school when everything about it is bullshit, passed from my sisters to me, and now to you."

She turned the DVDs over in her hands, curiously. "Thanks," she said, almost uncertainly. "I didn't think anyone else noticed. About school being bullshit, I mean."

"Most people who have made anything that mattered noticed." Gabriel shrugged. "This one's pretty easy to digest, but it's, like super 90s. Plenty more where that came from, though."

"I guess I should find those kids smoking in the forest," Illyana said. She had clearly been talking to the wrong people. Well. Not talking to anyone, more or less. Close enough.

"Or don't," Gabriel shrugged. "Life's an oyster waiting to be slurped, or some shit."

"...Uh-huh," Illyana said blankly, the metaphor soaring over her head. "I should . . . let you get back to things. Not drug dealing, I guess. Whatever it is you do."

"Yep." Gabriel raised an eyebrow, but in amusement. "Gonna take a shower and contemplate how my life got to the point where a teenager asked me for drugs. A great day in my life, personally."

The blonde girl stood up, taking her half-eaten Pop-Tart. "At least you'll be clean," she offered, comfortingly.

"Sure," Gabriel snorted. "That'll be the day."